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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24221026">time is all the luck you need</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/RecoveringTheSatellites/pseuds/RecoveringTheSatellites'>RecoveringTheSatellites</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Once Upon a Time (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Don't copy to another site, Epistolary, F/M, Social distance with a happy end</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 17:34:08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>11,337</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24221026</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/RecoveringTheSatellites/pseuds/RecoveringTheSatellites</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>There are all kinds of social distance. </p><p>Physical.<br/>Mental.<br/>Emotional.</p><p>Emma knows them all, practises them all (even in normal times), doesn't mind the lockdown one bit, and is completely unprepared for the connection it brings.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Emma Swan</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>144</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>153</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katie_Dub/gifts">Katie_Dub</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>For the absolutely lovely, wonderful, and AMAZING  @katie-dub -- HAPPY HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!!</p><p>You're one of the awesomest people i've had the good fortune to meet on this crazy journey, you're one of my favorite mythical creatures, and i love you VERY much.<br/>i humbly offer up this story and hope you enjoy it.<br/> </p><p>(((((((((((((((((((((((BIG HUGE HUG!!!)))))))))))))))))))))<br/> </p><p>Lyric-thief that i am, this title, too, is shamelessly stolen - this time from Seven Mary Three.<br/> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Monday, 5:11 PM</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>FROM: RMills@syc.com</span>
</p><p>
    <span>TO: ESwan@syc.com, KJones@syc.com
  
</span></p><p>
  <span>RE: Virtual Work Group 2-b /WO #329847</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This is to inform you that you have been put into a virtual work group.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As you know, in compliance with quarantine and social distancing guidelines, SYSTEMS AND COMMUNICATIONS INC. has switched to virtual teams.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You were selected based on requests and areas of expertise.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A kickoff meeting has been scheduled for tomorrow (TUESDAY) at 10 AM.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Virtual team IDs and logins below.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Please be punctual.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Should you have problems with your TEAMS APP or login, please contact the HelpDesk.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Tuesday, 9:58 AM</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Emma?  Emma Swan?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a face on her screen.  It’s grinning.  And two minutes early.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.  Hi.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, good.  Can you hear me OK?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He taps the screen on his end, the grin becomes a smile.  Should Emma be smiling?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can.  You?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine.”  There’s nodding.   “I’m Killian.  Killian Jones.  We’re supposed to---”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The stream buffers and his image freezes.  Sound stutters for almost a minute.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“---or at least that’s what Regina said.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Damn.  She didn’t catch any of that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Emma?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just--- you----”  Emma clears her throat.  “I lost you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She takes a deep breath. None of this is comfortable.  “You lagged.  I didn’t get any of that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, sorry.”  He smiles </span>
  <em>
    <span>again</span>
  </em>
  <span>.  “My bandwidth here is crap, sorry.  Hang on.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Emma can see bits of floor as he walks somewhere and sits down.  Instead of a white wall with an abstract painting on it, Emma now sees the back of a couch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry, this is a bit informal, but reception is better over here.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s not that informal.  He’s wearing a tie.  She nods.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look, Ms Swan.”  He clears his throat.  “I have an idea for a global resource overage network and database.  Regina said you might be able to help me?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This is exactly the kind of layman’s term recommendation Emma absolutely detests with every fiber of her being.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>Go ask Emma, she knows computers.</span>
  </em>
  <span>  It’s demeaning.  And mostly inaccurate.  The systems Emma codes and designs are complex and difficult to understand, and usually her talents do not apply to people’s requests in the least.  Seeing as most people show up at her desk having forgotten their password.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But it just so happens that</span>
  <em>
    <span> this</span>
  </em>
  <span> particular request is right on the money, and it almost annoys her more.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What kind of database are we talking about?  How flexible does it need to be?  Can XML hack it or do you need to go with NoSQL?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His smile grows very wide.  “Ms Swan, I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about.  Which means  that you’re exactly the person I need.”  He scratches behind his right ear.  “I just wish I could talk to you in person, instead of on this screen.  With lag.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Emma just nods.  She doesn’t know what to say to that.  The blouse and blazer she put on for this virtual meeting are starting to feel like a straightjacket. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ms Swan---”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can call me Emma.”  It comes out brusque and unwelcoming and really, his smile should have cracked his face by now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you Emma.  Please call me Killian.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She nods again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look, I have a crazy idea about global resource sharing and you seem to be the genius who can help me make it work.  Regina said as much, but now I believe she undersold you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Emma snickers.  Underselling is where Regina eats.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So will you help me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Emma rolls her eyes.  Like she has a choice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Send me your idea.  We can talk tomorrow.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nods and smiles for the millionth time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you, Emma Swan.  It was nice to meet you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And with that, he is gone.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He seems to be a genuinely nice man.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s probably the worst thing about him.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Wednesday, 10:31 AM</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey Emma.  It’s nice to see you again.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s not wearing a tie this time, and he’s on his couch again.  It makes her want to take off her blazer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi.  I looked at your--- how are you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Emma does not like to navigate the winding roads of social niceties.  They are confusing and she usually gets lost along the way.  But she has promised herself to start making an effort, especially now, when people are beginning to show the strain of being cooped up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>People who aren’t her.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Because this is pretty much Emma’s idea of a perfect world.  Except that she could do with less interaction.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He laughs.  “Fine, love.  Thanks.  You?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Emma can feel her face twist at the word ‘love’, and it must show, judging from the mortified look on his.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m so sorry, that just came out.  I apologize.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looks chagrined.  Emma sighs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you mean to be disrespectful?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I--- no!  No, of course not.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then we’re good.  Don’t worry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The relief on his face is unmistakable.  Even Emma, who is not exactly good at reading facial expressions, can see it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you.”  It sounds almost uncomfortably sincere.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Emma shakes her head.  “Don’t mention it.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then she takes off her blazer after all.  It’s been strangling her long enough.  He smiles at that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She nods. “I actually really like your idea.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Really?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think it’s long overdue.  Construction sites sharing their overages with each other?  On a global scale?   We should have done this decades ago.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The way his face lights up is impossible to misread.  He is </span>
  <em>
    <span>happy</span>
  </em>
  <span>.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you, Emma.  That means a lot.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Does he--- does he care what she thinks?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But---”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His face falls.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no-- the caveat is not for your idea.  The idea is solid.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His face relaxes again, and Emma feels an odd sense of relief.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The database, however, is going to be tricky.  It will need a lot of flexibility, and yet work inside a fixed structure.  And it will have to be fast.  Plus - simple and user friendly.  The people using this will be hardware guys, not IT nerds.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Definitely.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lag hits just as he nods and his face looks distorted for a moment.  She almost smiles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So anyway - the interface will have to be simple and intuitive, but we also won’t need lots of design bells and whistles.  Completely utilitarian.  Also - we should design it as an app as well.  Right from the start.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think I picked the right partner, Emma Swan.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No?”  He looks stricken.  “You don’t want to work with---”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You didn’t pick me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you mean?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Regina picked me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He laughs.  It sounds lovely and genuine.  “So she did.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Wednesday, 9:36 PM</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Killian?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She can make out bits and pieces as a hand shakes whatever device he’s holding, because he’s quite obviously not on the laptop - some hardwood floor, part of a wooden dining room table, the corner of a couch.  Finally the image settles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Emma?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s back on the sofa and sounds surprised.  His hair is disheveled and he’s wearing a T-shirt and--- </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh my god, I’m so sorry.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Emma has been told numerous times that her apologies do not always sound sincere, but she really hopes this one does.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t look at the time.  I can call back tom----”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no - it’s fine.  Are you all right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s funny, she was about to ask him the same question.  The hand holding his phone is unsteady and there are purple shadows under his eyes.  Eyes which look somewhat unfocused.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m fine.”  She studies him as best she can across his crappy connection, tries to put the pieces together.  “Have you been drinking?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He laughs, and oh--- this is not the laugh from earlier in the day.  This laugh sounds wrong, and she doesn’t like it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, it is evening, and technically, I’m off the clock.”  His vowels are very slightly broader than normal.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>Very</span>
  </em>
  <span> slightly.  “So are you, by the way.  What are you doing still working, Swan?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She has never been called </span>
  <em>
    <span>Swan</span>
  </em>
  <span> before, just Swan, no Ms.  Like a nickname, an endearment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Or are you still working?  Why did you call?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have a question regarding copper, because that will never be an overage.”  He squints at her, and she tries to clarify.  “Because it’s an actual asset, you see?  It gets traded on Wall Street and everything, and I---”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a ringing beep, and he frowns.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, Emma, I have to take this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He taps his screen and then he’s gone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t call back.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Thursday, 7:12 AM</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>FROM: KJones@syc.com</span>
</p><p>
  <span>TO: ESwan@syc.com</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>RE: Last night</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hi Emma - </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m really sorry.  I got some bad news last night, and was waiting for a phone call.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I meant to get back to you, but it was really late by the time I was done, and I didn’t want to disturb you.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>We can talk any time today, just let me know.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Again, I apologize.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-K</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Thursday, 9:02 AM</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>FROM: ESwan@syc.com</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>TO: KJones@syc.com</span>
</p><p>
  <span>RE: RE: Last night</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hey - </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s fine.  You looked upset.  Also - I called too late.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No worries - we can talk later today, when I have something.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not sure when, I’ll let you know.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-E</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Thursday, 3:11 PM</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Killian?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Emma!”  He sounds so relieved.  “I’m so sorry about---”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s fine.”  He is being too sincere, and it makes her uncomfortable.  “But I have more questions about the trade setup?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He exhales and smiles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Go ahead.  Ask.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She tries to ignore it, but his grateful look when she starts asking about transport components, like he’s so glad she’s not angry, is--- nice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Really nice.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Friday, 5:08 PM</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey Emma.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Killian?”  She’s not-- she’s dressed in nothing but a ratty sweater and she hasn’t washed her hair in 3 days.  “Hang on a sec?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Take your time.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There’s really nothing she can do about the sweater, because laundry is currently a ridiculously overdue task, but she manages to twist her hair up into a knot, locate a pen, and shove it through the tangles.  The knot holds.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m here.  Did we---” she tries to smooth her sweater, hold her phone so he can’t see the stain on it--- “I’m sorry, did we have a talk scheduled today?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He grins, and she sees he’s just wearing a t-shirt himself.  It has at least two holes in it and says, </span>
  <em>
    <span>...my days of not taking you seriously are definitely coming to a middle</span>
  </em>
  <span>.  She can’t help it.  She laughs out loud.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looks puzzled for a moment, until she points at his shirt.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s just - I really love that show.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Emma has never seen </span>
  <em>
    <span>anyone</span>
  </em>
  <span> grin this wide.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Swan!  You’re a </span>
  <em>
    <span>firefly</span>
  </em>
  <span> fan.   Bloody brilliant.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uhm, did we--- did we have a meeting scheduled?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shakes his head.  “No, actually.  Just-- I just wanted to know if you needed anything, you know, before the weekend?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think I got everything for now.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She shakes her head, and his face falls a bit.  Like he’s--- disappointed?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s just---”  He’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>fidgeting</span>
  </em>
  <span>.  A grown man is fidgeting across from her.  “Can we talk a little?  It’s so-- it’s so quiet here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is it usually loud?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shrugs.  “Well, you know, at the office there’s always something going on, phones ringing and people shouting and---”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Emma shudders.  She wears noise-canceling headphones at work for that very reason.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“---anyway, it’s been weeks of lockdown now, and I just---”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His fidgeting is worse now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is it hard for you?  Isolation?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He exhales a very long breath.  And nods.  “Yes.  It is.  Especially since I--- lost Max.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His voice trails off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who’s Max?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My dog.”  His sigh is bottomless.  “My ex-wife got him in the divorce.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A thought occurs to Emma.  “Is this--- is that what happened Wednesday night?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looks up and his eyes are large and sad.  Purely and only sad.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It is.”  He nods again.  “I’m really sorry about that night.  I was a bit into my cups when you rang.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s OK. I’m really sorry about your dog.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’m sorry </span>
  </em>
  <span>is just a phrase, it’s what people are supposed to say when tragedy befalls others. Except—she really means it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s OK.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everything in his face contradicts this statement. Everything.  Emma is not great at reading faces, but this is obvious.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then her stomach growls.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Swan? Was that you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’s not easily embarrassed, either, but she’s skirting mortification as she nods.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When was the— did you eat today?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She shakes her head. “All my favorite places don’t deliver right now, most of them are closed completely, and the grocery store is constantly out of bread and peanut butter, and I don’t have a car, so it’s been a little---”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She stops herself, because he doesn’t want to hear a lengthy itemization of her food-procurement issues.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Does he?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Emma?” His voice is hesitant. “Please don’t be offended, but— can you cook?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yeah, well. He’s grabbed Achilles by the heel there. Because Emma--- can boil water.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In an electric kettle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For tea.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She bites her lip and shakes her head.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How have you— what have you been eating all this time?” He sounds genuinely concerned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She thinks of her pantry. “I have vast stores of ramen.  And corn chips and salsa. </span>
  <em>
    <span>And </span>
  </em>
  <span>peanut butter and crackers.”  She grins.  “And wine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He laughs. It’s the first time he looks genuinely happy since they’ve talked about his dog.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wine is good. But I think you can do better than chips and salsa. Want to learn how to make more than PB&amp;J’s?”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Friday, 7:02 PM</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>FROM: KJones@syc.com</span>
</p><p>
  <span>TO: ESwan@syc.com</span>
</p><p>
  <span>RE: shopping list</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hi again –</span>
</p><p>
  <span>attached is a shopping list for you. Just try to get what you can, if they’re out of something, skip it, or get a substitute. Don’t stress, OK?  You’re brilliant and this is not complicated.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If you have any questions, you can call me from the store – my number’s on the list.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And don’t worry – tomorrow’s cooking lesson will be fun.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’ll walk you through everything. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You’ll be Guy Fieri in no time.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-K</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Friday, 7:58 PM</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>FROM: ESwan@syc.com</span>
</p><p>
  <span>TO: KJones@syc.com</span>
</p><p>
  <span>RE: RE: shopping list</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>You want me to get all that? Are you crazy? Am I feeding an army?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I don’t know what half of this stuff is!  Kefir?  Is that a thing?  I’ve never heard of fusilli, either. Are you making this up?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-E</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>PS: I had to look up Guy Fieri. You think you’re funny, don’t you.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Friday, 8:01 PM</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>FROM: KJones@syc.com</span>
</p><p>
  <span>TO: ESwan@syc.com</span>
</p><p>
  <span>RE: RE: RE: shopping list</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I promise these are all very real things, and your store will have them. And I thought maybe you want to cook enough for a few meals? So you don’t go hungry again right away?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This’ll be easy. Trust me.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-K</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>PS: I’ll have you know I’m hilarious. And of course I meant Bocuse.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Friday, 8:18 PM</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>FROM: ESwan@syc.com</span>
</p><p>
  <span>TO: KJones@syc.com</span>
</p><p>
  <span>RE: RE: RE: RE: shopping list</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bocuse is better. Impossible, but better.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(I laughed).</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-E</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Saturday, 8:47 AM</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Emma?” His voice sounds sleepy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, but you put your number on the list, and I’m at the store and they don’t have it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Emma? Is that you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She takes a deep breath. “Yes, can you hear me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re all muffled.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m wearing a mask.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah. Very good. It’s good that you’re being safe.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, but they don’t have parmesan. Only the grated stuff in the can, and you said not to get that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Definitely don’t!”  He sounds very emphatic.  Apparently cheese </span>
  <em>
    <span>matters</span>
  </em>
  <span>.  “Get pecorino instead.  Do they have pecorino?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hang on, I have to--- they do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Great.”  It’s amazing how relieved someone can sound over dairy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“OK then.  Sorry to wake you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No worries.  How about all the other stuff?  Did you get everything?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There is no way she’s telling him she hasn’t dared look for half of his ingredients yet.  Doesn’t actually know where to find a whole bunch of them.  “Uhm, I think so.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Emma?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why would you lie to me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not lying to you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You </span>
  <em>
    <span>think </span>
  </em>
  <span>so?  I asked if you got everything and you </span>
  <em>
    <span>think </span>
  </em>
  <span>so?  You work with databases every day, with precision formulas and exact information.  You don’t ‘think so’, ever.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, fuck.  He’s got her there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where are you stuck, love?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t notice the endearment at all this time, and she lets it slide because it feels so much nicer than it has any right to.  It’s neither patronizing nor condescending, and she’s going to let herself enjoy it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pretend for a small moment that it’s real.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, I---”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s the kefir, isn’t it.  So sorry.  You’ll find it with the buttermilk.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In a million years she would not have thought to look there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can turn on your camera, if you want.  Towards the front, so I can see the store and help you look.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> That’s actually a good idea.  She should tell him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine.”  She doesn’t mean it to sound so gruff.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he laughs, a lovely warm laugh which tells her he totally has her number.  All of her numbers.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t worry,” he says.  “You’re the smartest person in any room you walk into.  You just don’t know this room yet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It might be the nicest thing anyone has ever said to her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now, what else is giving you trouble?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She concedes defeat and turns on the camera.  Sees him sitting on that couch, his hair sticking up in all directions, waving at her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She waves back and rolls her eyes.  “Oregano.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Saturday, 10:57 AM</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I have started the water.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Great.  Can you point the camera so I can see you work?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Emma shifts a few groceries and finds a space on top of her coffee canister.  Only then does she realize he’s in his kitchen as well, standing at a large wooden counter, lots and lots of ingredients before him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ingredients which look almost exactly like the ones she just bought.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you-- what are you doing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He smiles that lovely warm smile of his.  “I thought it might be easier to cook alongside you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There is not a hint of guile.  He really thinks this will help her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“OK.  Now.  Do you have a large saucepan?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Emma rolls her eyes hard.  “Do I look like someone who owns a large saucepan?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He laughs.  “Show me what you’ve got.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She points to the stove where a medium-sized Ikea pot filled with water is sitting on the front burner.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Emma - did you fill this up all the way?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She nods.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pour some of the water out, OK?  It’ll spill once you add the pasta.  Did you add salt?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Emma can feel a wave of helplessness wash over her.  She can’t even boil water right.  It’s ridiculous.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Emma.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She bites her lip and looks down at her feet and has to fight hard not to simply close the laptop and turn off the stove and curl up on her couch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Emma.”  His voice is soft.  “Emma, please.  You just don’t know this room yet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There it is again, his metaphor, and she looks up</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s OK.  You had to learn to code, right?  Or did you just wake up one morning and zip through SQL like it was nothing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not a--- that’s not how it works.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know exactly what I mean, love.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And she does.  Endearment and all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So why should this be different?  You don’t think cooking is a skill?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I guess so.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Great.  And any skill can be mastered.  Now stop eating your lip, OK?  We’re about to make some real food.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She looks up and he nods at her.  Like he knows for sure she can do this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She nods back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good.  We’re back on track.  Now, the first thing you do is pour out enough water so your pot is only three quarters full, OK?  And then throw in a whole handful of salt.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A </span>
  <em>
    <span>handful</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.  Trust me.  Also, after that, you’ll want to put a lid on the pot.  Because physics.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She rolls her eyes again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Smartass.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His laugh is a wonderful, wonderful thing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Saturday, 2:39 PM</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“God, that was so good.”  Emma is so full, she may never move again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I told you it would be.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And I didn’t burn down my kitchen.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am very proud of you.  You were non-incendiary in all tasks.  It was quite something.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s walking back over to the couch; all she can see for a few moments are floorboards and pieces of wall, and then his face appears, very close.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hang on a sec, OK?  I have to show you something.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Emma nods, but he’s already gone, and she’s treated to the view of an empty couch for several minutes.  The couch looks worn and comfortable and well-loved.  It was probably the first piece of real furniture Killian ever bought.  It looks like it is.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then he comes back and sits down and Emma sees that his t-shirt says BLUE SUN in huge letters, and she laughs out loud.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Two by two,” she says.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hands of blue,” he answers and grins.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Emma laughs again, and then says, “Tell me what happened with your dog?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His grin falls.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wow.  Right for the jugular, Swan.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry.”  That is what people say when they upset others.  “But-- I think you’re suffering.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He barks a laugh that’s not as bitter as it could have been.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t mince words, do you, Emma Swan,” he says, his brows furrowed.  Then in a low voice he adds, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>How you’d shock them in Sussex.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”  It sounds like he’s quoting something.  He cocks his head.  “But I do like a challenge.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m a challenge?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, I’m sure you know that you are.”  He grins.  “And I’m also sure you don’t care a whit one way or another.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s got her there.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can see I’m not wrong,” he goes on, his voice soft.  “I’m sure you’re an impenetrable vault to most people.  But not to me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Really?”  She can’t help it.  She sounds hopeful.</span>
 </p><p>
  <span>“Really,” he says.  “You’re a bit of an open book.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you are amazing at changing the subject.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shrugs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But I really would like to know what happened to your dog.  Why can’t you see him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sighs.  His shoulders slump and he ducks his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My ex wife got sole custody.  I’m not allowed within 50 feet of my own dog.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t understand.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looks up.  “You really don’t understand, do you?”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s quiet, and if Emma had to describe his tone, she’d have said it was one of wonder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re a remarkable person, Emma Swan.  It seems you are unsullied by such things as spite or pain or vengeance.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not pain,” she says.  “I feel pain.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry.”  His voice is soft again.  Warm.  “Of course you feel pain.  I would never imply you don’t.  Forgive me.”  He sighs.  “I meant that you are unfamiliar with inflicting pain.  On other people.  On purpose.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She doesn’t know at all what to say to that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s revenge, you see?  She made sure to hurt me in the most painful way possible.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry.”  There it is again, that phrase.  Emma wishes there was something better, something truer, more powerful she could say.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I deserve it.  I was not a good husband.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Killian.”  He looks up and his eyes are sad.  Just--- sad.  “You don’t have to talk about this.  I’m sorry I brought it up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shrugs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have to get going anyway.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get going?  We’re on a lockdown.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have to go running for a bit.  Otherwise I go a little nuts.”  He smiles.  It doesn’t reach his eyes.  “Down by the river, you know.  There’s not that many people.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m really-- I’m so sorry I asked.  I didn’t mean to make you feel---  bad.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s OK, Emma.  This is not on you.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But I made it worse.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He smiles again, and this time it’s real.  “You did nothing of the kind, love.  I’m going to have to deal with this someday.”</span>
  </p><p>
  <span>“But not today?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He smiles again.  “But not today.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Sunday, 11:53 AM</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>KJones: Sorry for texting, wifi is down.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>ESwan:  This whole thing is an elaborate ruse, right?  You actually live in a hut on a desert island somewhere, enjoying the beach and pretending to work.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>KJones: I wish.  I live in a decrepit walkup with dead spots the size of Utah.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>ESwan:  Your apartment is the size of UTAH?</span>
  <span><br/>
<br/>
</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>KJones: YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>ESwan:  That you’re bragging about all the space you have to someone with less than 400 square feet?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>KJones: SWAN.  STOP IT.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>ESwan:  Stopping.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>KJones: What are you having for lunch today?  Should I help you cook again?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>ESwan:  I think I’m good.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>KJones: It’s noon.  You have to eat.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>ESwan:  I managed to not starve for more than 30 years before I met you. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>ESwan:  Killian?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>ESwan:  Are you still there?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>ESwan:  …..?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>KJones: I’m here.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>ESwan:  Oh good.  I thought you fell into one of your dead spots.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>KJones: No, I’m here.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>ESwan:  I’m sorry.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>KJones: For what?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>ESwan: Did you want to cook?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>ESwan: Killian?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>KJones: I guess so.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>ESwan:  We made enough pasta for an army yesterday.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>KJones: I know.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>ESwan: It’s even better today.  I already tried.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>KJones: Good.  That’s good.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>ESwan: Why do you sound so sad?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>KJones: I am letters on a screen.  I cannot possibly sound sad.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>ESwan: Then why do you?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>KJones: God.  You’re priceless.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>ESwan: I don’t understand.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>KJones: Just take the compliment.  </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>ESwan: OK.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>KJones: OK?</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>ESwan: Yes, of course.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>KJones: Good.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>ESwan: Hey - you know when your WiFi comes back up?  You and I could watch something together.  I could stream something and share my screen.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>KJones: Now that is an amazing idea, Swan.  This is why you make the big bucks.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>ESwan: Could you tell Regina I’m supposed to make big bucks?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>KJones: Oh, she’ll know what you’re worth when we’re done with this project.  Believe you me.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>ESwan: :)</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>KJones: What do you want to watch later?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>ESwan: Shindig.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>KJones: YES.  One of the best episodes.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>ESwan: Except for ALL the others.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>KJones: You got that right.  All twelve of them.</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Sunday, 11:18 PM</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“One more episode?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Killian yawns.  “Maybe tomorrow night?  After work?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lightweight.”  Emma grins.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Didn’t get much sleep last night, sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A small, worrisome thought starts to nag at the back of Emma’s mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Was it--- was that because of me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Killian’s eyebrows rise in confusion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Was it because I asked about--- about---”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, Emma.”  His voice is soft again, like he knows how awful she feels.  “This is not your fault.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She bites her lip and looks down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stop it.”  His voice is now firm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stop what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Chewing your lip like that.  It looks painful.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Liar.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not really painful.  And I don’t lie.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.”  He sighs.  “You definitely don’t lie.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His voice trails off and she looks up.  He smiles when she does.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I guess we’ll call it a night then,” she says.  “I’ll have a project update for you tomorrow afternoon, OK?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looks off to his right.  “I have meetings until 5PM.  You can call any time after that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Emma nods.  “Good night, I guess.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And he smiles again.  “Good night, Emma.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And it is.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Monday, 9:31 PM</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Killian?  Killian - where have you been?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Were you worried, love?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh, this is bad.  This is very, </span>
  <em>
    <span>very</span>
  </em>
  <span> bad.  He is not sober, definitely not sober, and from the looks of it, spoiling for a fight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you-- are you all right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Never better.”  His speech isn’t exactly slurred, but his vowels have taken on a life of their own.  A life which doesn’t include the consonants.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I tried to call you earlier, but---”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry.”  He lifts a bottle, takes a long, long sip from it, and then waves it in her direction.  “I had to go out.  To get supplies.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It is abundantly clear what kind of supplies he is talking about.  Liquid.  151 proof. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you-- have you eaten?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.”  His brow furrows.  “No?  I don’t remember.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Killian.”  She tries to speak very clearly, tries not to let her worry bleed through too much.  “Killian, I need you to do something for me, OK?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?”  He looks up again, and his eyes are both sharp and unfocused, from what she can tell across his crappy connection.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I need you to go into your kitchen and find something to eat.  Right now.  Can you do that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You just want my--- want me in the kitchen.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She smiles.  “It was fun, but I don’t need you to cook.  Make a sandwich or something.  Leave your laptop where it is.”  His brow furrows and she adds, “Do you have peanut butter and crackers?  Anything like that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He takes a deep breath, squares his shoulders, and nods.  “I do.  Hang on.  I may be a tiny bit pissed.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He struggles to get up, knocks over the laptop, and yells, “Sorry!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then there’s a sweep of colors and his face appears nearly up against the screen.  “Sorry!  Swan!  Are you all right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Emma laughs out loud.  “I’m not actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>in</span>
  </em>
  <span> your laptop you know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He rolls his eyes as he sets down the computer.  “Good point.  Maybe I am a bit more than pissed.”  He shakes his head, as if to clear it.  “Hang on.  Let me get that food.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Emma listens to him talk the entire time he ransacks his kitchen.  She can’t make out the words, but it does sound like he’s giving her the play-by-play.  It’s oddly endearing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then he comes back into view, a sandwich in his left, so full it’s nearly falling apart, a jar of peanut butter in his right, and a box of crackers under his arm.  It takes him a while to get settled and coordinated, but in the end he’s more or less square with the screen, and there’s only one mayonnaise thumbprint in the upper left hand corner.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you OK?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She can’t stop asking.  She can’t stop worrying.  He does not look like a person who drinks when he’s happy.  Quite the opposite, in fact.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nods, takes a long pull from the bottle and a big bite of his sandwich.  “Fine.”  It comes out muffled.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He swallows.  “I suppose you want to know why I’m ‘getting hammered’?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The last two words are said in the most atrocious American accent she has ever heard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not unless you want to talk about it.”  She wishes - for the first time - that their distance wasn’t literal.  It would be so much easier to assess his condition if she were in the same room.  “I just want to make sure you’re all right.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Swan.”  His eyes grow large and very soft.  “Please don’t worry about me.  There’s no need.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But here’s the thing.  There is a need.  Emma can feel it, and Emma can </span>
  <em>
    <span>never</span>
  </em>
  <span> feel these kinds of things.  Which means this need is dire.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think someone should.”  Her voice is soft, quiet, not accusatory.  But it needs to be said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He laughs, and it sounds utterly helpless.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, love,” he says, and takes another long pull from his bottle.  “Trust me when I tell you, you don’t want that burden.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please stop drinking,” Emma whispers.  “Please.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He smiles, a wistful little thing, and at least sets the bottle down, somewhere out of sight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want to tell you,” he says with conviction, before taking another bite of his sandwich.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tell me?  Tell me what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He chews and swallows.  “The story.  The whole sordid---- Everything.”  His shoulders slump.  “It’s going to be ugly.  Are you sure you want to hear it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And all Emma can do is nod.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s quiet for a long moment, and when he starts to talk, his voice has changed.  It’s pensive and somehow remote, removed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I met a woman.  A long time ago, I met a woman.  She was sophisticated and accomplished and intelligent and I fell in love, and I married her.  And in the beginning it was great.  The whole first year-- it was great.  But then I got the job at SYC and---  it doesn’t matter.  We grew apart.  Became distant.  Spent our time being unhappy together.  A lot of time.  Such-- such a long time.  So unhappy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He lets his head fall forward.  It’s misery in a single gesture.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anyway--- in the end I filed for divorce.  And she made sure to get custody of our dog.  Which was the only thing I really wanted.  I told her--- told her she could have the apartment and the car and everything else, all I wanted was Max.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looks up.  There are tears in his eyes.  “Well-- she had an excellent lawyer, because she ended up with everything </span>
  <em>
    <span>and</span>
  </em>
  <span> the dog.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hangs his head again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I miss him.”  It’s a whisper.  “I miss him so much.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He exhales a heavy sigh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think Max misses me, too.”  He sniffs, tries to hide it, fails, and sniffs again, louder.  “She’s not--- I know she’ll take care of him, but she’s---  she’s not a dog person.  She doesn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>love </span>
  </em>
  <span>him.  Not like--- </span>
  <em>
    <span>God</span>
  </em>
  <span>.  I just miss him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Emma doesn’t have the words to stem that kind of grief.  All she can think of is cause and effect.  “Is there-- do you know why she went after you like that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shrugs.  Still looking down.  “I filed.  She was unhappy for a long time, and honestly, in the beginning, I wasn’t helping.  I was just getting my start at SYC, and working all the time.  And constantly stressed out.  I was--- I was awful.  Absent.  Not there at all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wipes angrily at his right cheek.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was so--- focused on getting my career going and I---  it doesn’t matter.  There’s no excuse.  By the time I was coming around and was willing to work on our marriage, it was too late.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looks up.  His eyes are red.  “She’d already found someone else.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did she…?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He laughs, and oh god - it’s so bitter.  “...go out and have sex with a better offer?  Yes.  Yes she did.  But it does take two to tango, and I certainly hadn’t been there to do any kind of dancing for a while.  So when I found out she was---” he clears his throat--- “I filed for divorce.  And I think that just made her very angry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There is so much here Emma doesn’t understand.  The actions and reactions of people so often are inscrutable to her, are code for which she doesn’t have the key.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But she--  I mean, she cheated?  On you?  Why does she get to be angry?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Killian laughs out loud again, and this time it’s not bitter at all.  He looks up, straight at her, and his eyes are very shiny.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, Swan,” he says.  “You </span>
  <em>
    <span>are</span>
  </em>
  <span> priceless.”  He shakes his head.  “You see, I’d been making her unhappy, and she simply went to color outside those lines.”  He finally reaches for the bottle, takes a long sip.  “We were broken-- but we were a functioning kind of broken, you know?  Just sort of coexisting, but comfortable in our unhappiness.  Or rather, complacent in it.”  Another long sip.  “And then I brought lawyers into the mix.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This does not clear things up, not one bit.  It must show on her face, because Killian laughs again, softly this time, warm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, Swan.  I will curb the flowery language.  Look - she blames me for ruining the marriage and making her cheat.  And then I had the audacity to file for divorce.  Sent lawyers after </span>
  <em>
    <span>her</span>
  </em>
  <span>.  Exposed </span>
  <em>
    <span>her</span>
  </em>
  <span>.  So she made very sure to hurt me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s really sad.”  Emma is completely out of her depth, and she’s almost sorry she asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Almost.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But - some people work through things by talking, and she has the feeling that Killian is one of those people.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.”  His voice is low, and he’s once again looking down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have you tried talking to her?  Telling her how much you miss your dog?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This laugh is much more bitter than anything Emma has heard from him before.  “I am a hundred percent certain that talking to me is the very last thing Milah wants to do.  Ever.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that her name?  Milah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nods.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, you’re a hundred percent certain because you tried to talk to her and couldn’t?”  It’s his fault for throwing math at Emma.  Math will be questioned.  Especially dubious statistics.  “Or are you making an assumption?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His head snaps up, and his jaw drops.  It’s not terribly attractive.  He finally closes his mouth and scratches behind his ear.  “Well---”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So you are making an assumption.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looks at her for an eternal moment, looks like he’s going to argue the point.  But he doesn’t.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine.  Yes.  Yes I am.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then you should maybe talk to her?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sighs.  “I am much too sober for this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not true at all.  Please don’t try and talk to her tonight.  Not like this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you saying I’m too </span>
  <em>
    <span>drunk</span>
  </em>
  <span> for this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Emma squirms, because she’s caught between always telling the truth, which is familiar territory, and not wanting to hurt his feelings, which is completely uncharted ground.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But then he laughs.  Easy.  Genuine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t worry, love.  I won’t call her tonight.”  He looks at her for a very long moment and then says, quietly, “Thank you, Emma Swan.  Thank you so much.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And suddenly Emma feels light.  And-- happy.</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you all for being so patient, especially @Katie_dub.<br/>The "Sussex" line is a left-field riff on an "A Room With A View"-bit, E.M. Forster forgive me.<br/>And the 151 proof is a rum whose brand i won't mention, but it kicks like a MULE.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Tuesday, 1:58 AM</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>ESwan: Killian, I know you’re asleep by now, and I hope this text doesn’t wake you, but I just wanted to tell you not to feel guilty about tonight.  Just don’t.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Tuesday, 2:11 AM</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>KJones: You’re a good excellent.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>KJones: A good ecstatic.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>KJones: A GOOD EGG.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>KJones: I hate automation.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>KJones: AUTOCORRECT.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>KJones: Go to sleep.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Tuesday, 11:09 AM</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>FROM: KJones@syc.com</span>
</p><p>
  <span>TO: ESwan@syc.com</span>
</p><p>
  <span>RE: You said not to, but…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Emma, </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I know you told me not to feel bad about last night, but I do, and I’m sorry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I dumped a lot of baggage on you, and you don’t deserve any of it.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>If you want to make a formal complaint to HR, and /or want off the project, I would understand.  Please don’t feel pressured to stay.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Your future in the company will in no way be affected by this, I promise you that.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-K</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Tuesday, 11:12 AM</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>FROM: ESwan@syc.com</span>
</p><p>
  <span>TO: KJones@syc.com</span>
</p><p>
  <span>RE: RE: You said not to, but…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Killian - </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Please don’t bring HR into this.  There’s no need.  Let me tell you what happened:</span>
</p><p> </p>
<ol>
<li><span> I called you after 9:30 PM.  That’s way after hours.  You are allowed to drink after hours.</span></li>
<li><span> You’re going through stuff.  You’re allowed to go through stuff.</span></li>
<li>
<span> If memory serves, I asked all the questions, so you dumped nothing.  I </span><em><span>asked</span></em><span>.</span>
</li>
</ol><p> </p><p>
  <span>Also, I always mean what I say.  I told you not to feel guilty.  And I meant it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-E</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Tuesday, 11:17 AM</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>FROM: KJones@syc.com</span>
</p><p>
  <span>TO: ESwan@syc.com</span>
</p><p>
  <span>RE: RE: RE: You said not to, but…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>You’re too kind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You really are.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Thank you.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-K</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Tuesday, 11:19 AM</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>FROM: ESwan@syc.com</span>
</p><p>
  <span>TO: KJones@syc.com</span>
</p><p>
  <span>RE: RE: RE: RE: You said not to, but…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Have you talked to Milah yet?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-E</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Tuesday, 11:21 AM</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>FROM: KJones@syc.com</span>
</p><p>
  <span>TO: ESwan@syc.com</span>
</p><p>
  <span>RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: You said not to, but…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Apparently I spoke too soon.  I meant you’re tenacious.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-K</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Tuesday, 11:23 AM</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>FROM: ESwan@syc.com</span>
</p><p>
  <span>TO: KJones@syc.com</span>
</p><p>
  <span>RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: You said not to, but…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>You have met me, right?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-E</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Tuesday, 11:24 AM</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>FROM: KJones@syc.com</span>
</p><p>
  <span>TO: ESwan@syc.com</span>
</p><p>
  <span>RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: You said not to, but…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Well, not </span>
  <em>
    <span>technically</span>
  </em>
  <span>.  But yeah, I’ve met you enough.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(I WILL talk to her.  Soon.  But not now, because I’m kind of hungover.)</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-K</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Tuesday, 11:25 AM</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>FROM: ESwan@syc.com</span>
</p><p>
  <span>TO: KJones@syc.com</span>
</p><p>
  <span>RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: You said not to, but…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I will hold you to that.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-E</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Tuesday, 11:26 AM</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>FROM: KJones@syc.com</span>
</p><p>
  <span>TO: ESwan@syc.com</span>
</p><p>
  <span>RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: You said not to, but…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That’s what I’m afraid of.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-K</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Wednesday, 3:47 PM</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey Emma.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His voice is soft and a little hesitant.  Like he’s still ashamed.  When he shouldn’t be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She smiles at him.  “How are you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sober.”  He laughs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not what I asked.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know.”  His face grows serious.  “I know it’s not.  But I’m fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you sure?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Emma has learned to question the first ‘fine’ people give her.  It is false information in an astonishing number of cases.  People really don’t know how to use that word correctly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nods.  “I am.  Don’t worry.”  He looks off to the side.  “We’re scheduled for a project update at 5.  Have you seen Regina’s email about----”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then Emma’s stomach </span>
  <em>
    <span>growls</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He cuts himself off and looks straight at her.  “Have you not eaten?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s not a big deal.  She’s been stuck on a tricky bit of coding since Monday afternoon, and she just forgets sometimes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Emma?  Be honest.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She shrugs.  “Did you want to have a decent amount of progress to report on?  Because then it’s imperative I wrangle this code into something resembling a shape.  Food is secondary.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He rolls his eyes so hard, she </span>
  <em>
    <span>feels</span>
  </em>
  <span> it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You are talking nonsense, Swan.  Now go to your kitchen.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“You heard me.  Get up and go to your kitchen, and come back with food.  Do it now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You are very bossy, do you know that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Only when I’m right.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She would huff way more if she weren’t actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>starving</span>
  </em>
  <span>.  She hadn’t noticed just how hungry she was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When she sits back down waving a box of crackers, a jar of peanut butter and an apple at him, he actually facepalms.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh god Emma.  What am I going to do with you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is a perfectly balanced meal.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For a 10-year-old at recess!  You’re doing actual work here!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She laughs.  He’s so indignant.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We shall have another cooking session soon.  Seeing as I’m apparently responsible for keeping you from getting scurvy.  Or worse.”  He furrows his brow, but he’s also biting down hard on a grin.  “Plan your weekend accordingly.  You’re getting another shopping list Friday night.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She looks straight back at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Only if you promise to talk to Milah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He rolls his eyes again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You drive a hard bargain, love.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Somebody has to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine.  I promise.  Now can we get to the damn progress report?  I only have an hour to finish this presentation.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You made me stop and get food!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, well, who could possibly hear themselves think over the sound of your stomach eating itself?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So you’re saying it’s my fault?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He laughs.  “Always.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So you don’t need this bit of coding I finally untwisted?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait!  No!  You did </span>
  <em>
    <span>what?</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I solved our normalization issue.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you serious?”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She can feel her cheeks get warm as she nods.  “And I implemented a first run option for a process that updates the model along with the database as changes occur.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This is a very special crusade of Emma’s.  Most people don’t look at databases as living organisms which need to evolve as they grow.  Which is why so many become unmanageable in a very short period of time, and then spend the rest of their inefficient, languishing years simply tying the hands of every user and slowing down </span>
  <em>
    <span>everything</span>
  </em>
  <span>.  She does not expect Killian to understand any of this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But his eyes grow perfectly round and his mouth drops open for several moments of awed silence.  And then he shakes his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Emma Swan, you are my personal hero.  And </span>
  <em>
    <span>amazing</span>
  </em>
  <span>.  You can ignore everything else I said.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Except for the cooking?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Except for the cooking.”  His eyes grow soft, and very serious.  “But please know that </span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> know that you just did the impossible.  And everyone else will know it by the time I’m done.  They will sing your praises for years to come.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It feels so good, his honest appreciation.  Praise without any strings attached.  Acknowledgement for something she did.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you saying minstrels will sing songs about me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He laughs.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They will sing epic poems of battle and victory.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She rolls her eyes, because it feels too nice, almost.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As long as you talk to Milah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He groans and shakes his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I said I would.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, that’s all I want.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And it is all she wants.  Or needs.  Except for when he calls her ‘love’.  She wants that, too.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Wednesday, 6:59 PM</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh my god.  Emma.”  He is smiling out </span>
  <em>
    <span>loud</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did they like your presentation?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you mean did they like </span>
  <em>
    <span>your </span>
  </em>
  <span>work?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Again her cheeks get warm as she nods.  Hot.  Hot actually.  She’s never worked with anyone who---- </span>
  <em>
    <span>sees </span>
  </em>
  <span>her.  Sees what she does.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They loved it.  And they are very impressed with you.  Regina wants you on the next call.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The lovely warm feeling inside Emma does a 180 and becomes </span>
  <em>
    <span>panic</span>
  </em>
  <span>.  She has trouble breathing all of a sudden.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Calm down, Swan.”  His voice becomes reassuring and it’s helping a little.  “I told them you were busy finishing the modeling, and then you were going straight into the app.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His voice drops, becomes soft and conspiratorial.  “You don’t have to talk to anyone if you don’t want to.  I just wish you would, so they could see how brilliant you are.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Emma can’t lift her eyes off the tabletop and mumbles “I am not brilliant”.  Her face is hotter than the sun.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Emma.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She can’t look up, she </span>
  <em>
    <span>can’t</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Emma, please.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His voice is still low, and oddly comforting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Emma.  I know networking is not your sandbox.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s an understatement.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>Talking </span>
  </em>
  <span>isn’t her sandbox.  Interaction with other people isn’t her sandbox.  Her sandbox is solitary and she likes it that way and how on earth did Killian get into her sandbox?  When did that happen?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I already made your excuses.  I won’t bring it up again, I promise.  Please look at me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Emma raises her eyes and he exhales.  Was he worried?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks.”  She wishes her voice weren’t shaking.  “Thank you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No worries, Swan.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Will you still talk to Milah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just--  I realize it’s not fair, that I’m asking you to talk to your ex while I don’t even want to be on a conference call.   For work.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His eyes get very soft as he smiles at her.  “We all have different strengths and skills.  I would never hold you hostage over something which makes you truly uncomfortable.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Emma can feel her eyes getting wet and she blinks.  Repeatedly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you OK?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m fine, I promise.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you sure?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Emma nods.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In that case I suggest we celebrate.  Get something to drink, Swan.  We are watching </span>
  <em>
    <span>firefly</span>
  </em>
  <span> tonight.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Which episode?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He smiles and she can’t help but smile back.  He looks so happy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ll start at the beginning this time.  Let’s see how far we get.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And tomorrow you’ll call Milah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He does a spectacular full-body eyeroll.  “Oh my </span>
  <em>
    <span>god, </span>
  </em>
  <span>woman.  You’re a pitbull.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that a yes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He laughs out loud.  “It is.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Thursday, 5:56 PM</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>KJones: Swan?  Are you alive?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>KJones: Seriously?  Emma?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>KJones: I’M ABOUT TO CALL THE POLICE.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>ESwan: Sorry, didn’t see your text.  I’m in the middle of something tricky.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>KJones: Oh, OK.  I was worried.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>ESwan: Worried something happened to me in my apartment?  Where I am all day?  By myself?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>KJones: 89% of all accidents happen in the home.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>ESwan:  You just made that up.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>KJones: I did NOT.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>ESwan:  You have a very loose relationship with statistics.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>KJones: I have a loose relationship with all math.  And YES, I made that up.  Happy now?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>ESwan: Ecstatic.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>KJones: Don’t sass me, woman.  </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>ESwan: I wouldn’t know how.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>KJones: I know.  That’s what makes talking to you both wonderful and infuriating.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>ESwan: Uh, thanks?  I guess?</span>
  <span><br/>
<br/>
</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>KJones: LEARN TO TAKE A COMPLIMENT.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>ESwan: OK.  Thanks.  Sincerely.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>KJones: That’s better.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>KJones: Anyway - how are you doing?  Do you think we can present next week?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>ESwan: WE?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>KJones: Can *I* present next week?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>ESwan: Only if you stop texting me.  I’m wasting valuable coding time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>ESwan: Killian?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>ESwan: Are you still there?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>ESwan:....?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>KJones: I was leaving you alone.  TO CODE.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>ESwan: Smartass.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>KJones: It’s part of my charm.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>ESwan: If you say so.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>KJones: You really know how to wound a guy. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>ESwan: Uh, sorry?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>KJones: No worries.  I’ll leave you to it then.  But can you please give me an update tomorrow?  So I can hand in a progress report before the weekend?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>ESwan: Of course.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>KJones: Great.  Thank you.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>ESwan: Have you spoken to Milah yet?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>ESwan: Killian?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>ESwan: Killian?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>ESwan: Killian?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>ESwan: Killian?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>ESwan: Killian?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>ESwan: Killian?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>KJones: WILL YOU STOP THAT.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>ESwan: Well?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>KJones: NOT YET, BUT i WILL, NOW GET BACK TO WORK.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>ESwan: :)</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Friday, 10:46 AM</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>FROM: KJones@syc.com</span>
</p><p>
  <span>TO: ESwan@syc.com</span>
</p><p>
  <span>RE: In case you forgot</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Good morning Emma,</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Attached is your shopping list for tomorrow.  I hope there’s a good Asian food market near you.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You said you liked Pad Thai, right?</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Well, it’s high time you learned how to make it yourself. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-K</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Friday, 10:59 AM</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>FROM: ESwan@syc.com</span>
</p><p>
  <span>TO: KJones@syc.com</span>
</p><p>
  <span>RE: RE: In case you forgot</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Hey - </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I should have your progress report in a few hours.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And what do you mean, lemongrass is a thing?  Like - an actual thing?  I thought it was a flavor?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-E</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Friday, 11:02 AM</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>FROM: KJones@syc.com</span>
</p><p>
  <span>TO: ESwan@syc.com</span>
</p><p>
  <span>RE: RE: RE: In case you forgot</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Did you mean a synthetic flavor?  Like a combination of chemicals?  No - it’s an actual plant.  It’s really lovely when you know how to use it right.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You’re not allergic to peanuts, are you?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-K</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Friday, 11:07 AM</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>FROM: ESwan@syc.com</span>
</p><p>
  <span>TO: KJones@syc.com</span>
</p><p>
  <span>RE: RE: RE: RE: In case you forgot</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Killian.  You have literally watched me eat peanut butter.  You have reprimanded me for it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(But thank you for asking!)</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-E</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Friday, 11:08 AM</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>FROM: KJones@syc.com</span>
</p><p>
  <span>TO: ESwan@syc.com</span>
</p><p>
  <span>RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: In case you forgot</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>That's right, I forgot.  Good.  I was all out of EPI pens.  (The reprimand stands though.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Let me know if you have a problem at the store tomorrow, OK?  We can do facetime again if you want.  I can help you find everything.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As for the progress report - just get your status to me by 4 PM, OK?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-K</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Friday, 11:13 AM</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>FROM: ESwan@syc.com</span>
</p><p>
  <span>TO: KJones@syc.com</span>
</p><p>
  <span>RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: In case you forgot</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>I will.  And thank you.  You’re being very kind, I hope you know that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Which is why I am NOT going to ask if you called Milah yet.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not going to ask at all.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>TTYL</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-E</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Friday, 11:17 AM</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>FROM: ESwan@syc.com</span>
</p><p>
  <span>TO: KJones@syc.com</span>
</p><p>
  <span>RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: In case you forgot</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>That was the loudest not-asking in the history of ever, but I’m glad you didn’t.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m getting there.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Thanks for---  just thanks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-K</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Saturday, 12:42 PM</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“OW!  OW OW OW OW!!!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Swan!  Are you OK?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“OW!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“TALK TO ME!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let me see.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How much could you possibly see across this crap stream with your shitty WiFi?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Show me!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Emma holds up her hand, wrapped tightly in a dish towel.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“See?  I’m fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You are not fine.  Show me the cut.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Emma slowly lifts the towel and shows Killian the finger which just made intimate acquaintance with the blade of her kitchen knife.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The moment the towel comes off, blood starts to flow freely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“OK, that’s deep, Swan.  Put the towel back, keep pressure on it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know, I only took the towel off to---”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, I’m sorry, but I had to see.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How did it look?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His brows furrow, his eyes look worried.  “That’s a serious cut, Swan.  I think you may need stitches.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not going to a hospital.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you worried about infection?  Because you have a mask and---”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not going to the hospital.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She hates how brusque, how rude she sounds, but he must be made to understand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Swan?”  His voice is hesitant now, and definitely worried.  “Are you--- are you afraid of doctors, love?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She cringes.  “Not doctors, not exactly---”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hospitals?  You’re afraid of hospitals?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If he could just stop reading her correctly for five minutes, that would be great.  She doesn’t nod, but he knows anyway.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Emma.”  His voice is soft now.  “Emma, if I call you a cab, will you go to the emergency room?  Please?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Will you </span>
  <em>
    <span>finally </span>
  </em>
  <span>call Milah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The full-body eyeroll he gives her is epic.  “FINE,” he sighs.  “I’ll talk to her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Today</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.  Damn you, woman.  Today.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“OK.  You can call me a cab.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you promise to go to the ER.  All the way in.  To get looked at.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She returns the full-body eyeroll.  ”Yes, oh my god.  Yes, I do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His voice grows soft again.  “Will you be OK?  I would go with you if I could.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s a nice thing to say.  Emma can’t imagine going to a hospital if she didn’t absolutely have to.  Not even to support a friend.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll manage.  I’ve gotten this far.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Keep pressure on it.”  He sounds worried again.  “And get your mask.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She nods.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And Emma?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She looks up and his eyes are so serious.  “Call me if you get anxious, OK?  I’ll be by the phone.  I can talk you through it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s the nicest thing anyone has ever done for her and tears spring to her eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, hey - don’t panic, love.  Please don’t panic.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ah - this time he’s misread her, misinterpreted the tears.  She smiles to reassure him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m fine,” she says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Call me,” he says.  “Call me if anything--- you know what?  Just call me from the cab.  And be safe.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She nods.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“OK.”  He looks somewhat appeased.  “Then I’ll call the cab now.  What’s your address?”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Saturday, 2:11 PM</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>ESwan:  I got six stitches.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>KJones: Are you OK?  Are you dizzy?  How are you getting home?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>ESwan: Same way I got here.  Cab.  They’re running.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>KJones: Will you be OK?  I’m on the other line, but I can hang up and stay with you.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>ESwan: No, don’t worry.  I’m just tired.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>KJones: Too tired to get home?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>ESwan: No, fine.  Please don’t worry.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>KJones: TEXT ME WHEN YOU GET HOME.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>ESwan: Sure.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>KJones: PROMISE ME.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>ESwan: I promise.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>ESwan: Thank you.  Really.  Thank you so much.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>KJones: Of course, Emma.  Always.</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Saturday, 4:32 PM</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m home.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, </span>
  <em>
    <span>good</span>
  </em>
  <span>.  I’m glad.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s really relieved.  At least that’s what it looks like to her, it’s a little hard to tell.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you feeling all right, Swan?  Are you in pain?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She smiles.  It feels weird.  Like her mouth is pulling at her cheeks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They gave me something.  For the--- for the pain.”  Her lips have trouble moving, and her tongue feels too big.  “It’s--- Killian, I feel stran--- stray---”  the word won’t form--- “</span>
  <em>
    <span>strange</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There it is.  That took effort.  “I feel strange.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looks worried.  And also fuzzy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Painkillers can make you loopy, Emma.  Please lie down.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m on the couch.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good.”  He sounds relieved again.  Still?  “Can you promise me something?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I pomise---”  Wait.  That’s not right.  “I p</span>
  <em>
    <span>r</span>
  </em>
  <span>omise you stuff all the--- all the time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His smile is soft.  And still fuzzy.  His WiFi is so much worse today.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That you do, Swan.  But I need one more promise from you right now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“K.”  Her hands feel very light.  Like they could float away.  Even the one wrapped up in gauze.  “What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I need you to just lie down and sleep for the rest of the day, OK?  Don’t-- don’t try to do stuff.  And for god’s sake, don’t cook.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She wants to laugh, but it comes out warbled.  “Because it ended so--- so---”  What was she trying to say?  Oh, Right.  “Because it ended so well last time?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He leans forward.  “You are not allowed within 50 feet of a knife if I’m not there to supervise.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You want to come supervy--- supavie---  </span>
  <em>
    <span>god</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”  It’s so frustrating, the way her mouth simply will not cooperate.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He smiles.  “I definitely need to supervise,” he finishes her sentence.  She’s happy he does.  “Emma, I wish I could be there for you now.  I’d be over in a second if it weren’t for this lockdown.”  The last part he mumbles almost to himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That would be nice.”  It just slips out before Emma can stop herself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah?”  His smile is so bright.  But the more Emma thinks about it, the more she realizes--- it </span>
  <em>
    <span>would</span>
  </em>
  <span> be nice.  No getting up for food or drinks or--- she has to get her comforter.  It’s getting chilly in here.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You could get my blanket.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I would,” he says softly, and then his eyes narrow.  “Emma?  Is that not--- isn’t that a blanket behind you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh.  Of course.  She keeps an afghan on the back rest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good catch.”  She pulls it down and oh, it’s so cozy.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So do you promise, Swan?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you promise me to stay put on the couch and not do anything at all while you’re all hopped up on pain meds?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Part of it is the blanket.  But part of why she feels so nice and warm is his voice, and the way he worries about her.  She’s never been the object of concern, only the cause.  It feels almost too nice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Emma?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh, right.  He’s waiting for an answer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I.  Pro.  Mise.”  God, that word is so hard.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you.”  He sighs.  “Now go to sleep.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her eyes are so heavy, but there’s something she has to say first.  “I don’t mean to bug you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Swan?”  He looks confused.  And so very fuzzy now.  “What are you talking about?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I keep--- Milah.  I keep telling you.  I don’t--- I’m not doing it to bother you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know.”  He smiles at her again.  Why does it look sad?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just----”  She huffs.  It’s so hard to talk.  Physically.  It’s difficult.  “I think you’re lonely.  And you love.  You love your dog.  And you---- you should have him if you love him that much.  He--- he deserves you.  Loved by you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was a lot of words.  Emma is exhausted.  It looks like Killian is wiping his cheeks, but she can’t quite make it out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her eyes close.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Everyone should be loved,” she murmurs, and feels her shoulders relax as her head goes down on the couch cushion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As she falls asleep she thinks she hears him say, “They definitely should.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Thursday, 5:18 PM</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>FROM: RMills@syc.com</span>
</p><p>
  <span>TO: ESwan@syc.com, KJones@syc.com</span>
</p><p>
  <span>RE: Virtual Work Group 2-b /WO #329847 - Final Report</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>This is to inform everyone involved what a great job you have done on this project.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Projects like these could not be realized and implemented without the focus and skills of people like you.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Congratulations on finishing the modeling and design phase.  Specific app design and beta testing will follow, results will be made available to you as needed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>We are tentatively scheduling a fall launch.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Please feel free to take tomorrow (Friday) off.  New projects will be assigned to you on Monday.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Thank you and have a nice weekend.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sincerely,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Regina Mills</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>KJones: We did it.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>ESwan: We did.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>KJones: How does it feel?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>ESwan: Regina signed the email.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>KJones: What?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>ESwan: She never signs.  Ever.  She signed off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>ESwan:  Killian?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>ESwan: Are you still there?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>KJones: I’m here, I’m here, I just had to check.  You’re right.  She never does.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>ESwan: Does that mean anything?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>KJones: I think it means she really liked what we accomplished.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>ESwan:  Oh good.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>KJones: What YOU accomplished.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>ESwan: Not by myself.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>KJones: Emma.  You know you did all the work.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>ESwan: You had the idea.  And it was a good idea.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>KJones: Yeah.  And that’s it.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>ESwan: That’s not true.  You sold it.  You presented it.  You TALKED.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>KJones: That is not work.  Not like your end.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>ESwan: I couldn’t do that.  Not in a million years.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>KJones: You could, too.  You can do anything you want.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>ESwan: Also not true.  What you do matters.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>KJones: It does?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>ESwan: It does.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>KJones: Thank you, Emma.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>ESwan: It’s the truth.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>KJones: In that case, thank you A LOT.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>ESwan: :)</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>KJones: So I guess that’s it then?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>ESwan: I don’t know what to say.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>KJones: Well, if you ever feel like watching more firefly…. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>ESwan: Yeah</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>KJones: Just don’t go near any big knives, OK?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>ESwan: OK.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>KJones: OK.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>ESwan: Have a good weekend.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>KJones: You, too, Swan.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>ESwan: Oh - and thank you, too.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>KJones: For what?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>ESwan: Just -- thank you.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>KJones: Always, Emma.  Always.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Saturday, 8:49 AM</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Emma’s doorbell rings, and when she goes to open it she has a fraction of a second to take in laughing blue eyes and a wide smile before two paws land on her shoulders and she is nearly borne to the ground by an enormous dog with an </span>
  <em>
    <span>enormous </span>
  </em>
  <span>tongue licking straight across her face.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“MAX!  DOWN!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Well.  There’s no way that dog will listen to his owner.  Not when his owner is laughing this hard.  Emma is tempted to laugh herself, but the licking continues with force until she lifts the paws off and they drop back down to the ground.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Max is a gigantic mutt - he looks like a fluffy, overgrown German shepherd - and he’s wagging his tail so hard his hindquarters rock with it.  She looks from the dog to Killian and back again and can’t decide which one of them looks happier.  She swears the dog is </span>
  <em>
    <span>grinning</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hi, Emma.”  For all the wide smiles he gives her, Killian’s voice is tentative, and--- unsure?  Like they haven’t been talking for weeks now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Emma feels the same uncertainty.  It’s one thing to sit across a screen from each other.  It’s quite another to be in each other’s presence.  But then a cold snout bumps her hand, and she does laugh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You got him back?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The face of the man across from her becomes soft and fond and his eyes grow very bright.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I got him back.”  It’s a whisper.  “Thanks to you.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Emma furrows her brow in confusion, but Killian goes on, still smiling.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s why I thought you should meet him.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Emma steps back and Max yanks his leash out of Killian’s grip and dashes into the apartment and Emma laughs again.  “Why don’t you come on in?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Killian stammers an apology and follows her inside and when they get to the living room they find the dog sprawled across the length of Emma’s couch, still wagging his tail.  It thumps hard against the cushions.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Max!  DOWN!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This time Max listens, and waits until Emma and Killian are both sitting on the couch before he saunters over and puts his head in Emma’s lap and looks at her mournfully.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Emma looks at Killian.  “This is not fair.  How am I supposed to stay strong in the face of this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Killian shakes his head.  “You’re not.  He fights dirty.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Emma pats the empty space between them and Max jumps up, panting and wagging his tail until Killian says, “Lie down, Max.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And he does.  Again with his head in Emma’s lap.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then Killian looks at Emma for a long moment before he says, “I really do want to thank you, Emma.”  His voice is quiet and sincere.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What for?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Being a freaking pitbull.  Making me talk to Milah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you two good now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sighs and his smile becomes wistful.  “We’re getting there.  But she agreed to let me have Max.”  He laughs.  “Probably because he’s a handful, which I’m sure you noticed.  But I don’t care.  I got him back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>God, he looks so </span>
  <em>
    <span>happy</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you just get him today?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Killian shakes his head.  “I picked him up the day before yesterday.  But--- the lockdown only lifted this morning, and I just--- wanted to introduce you two.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He rubs Max’s flank and gets a thumping tailwag in return.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I never would have--- ”  He shakes his head.  “Thank you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s so heartfelt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The way he says it.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>As if she were actually responsible for some of his good fortune.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t do anything,” she whispers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You did enough,” he says, and smiles at her again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then keeps looking at her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“How’s your hand?”  He finally says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She holds it up.  “The stitches are already starting to dissolve.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let me see?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His fingers are warm and gentle as he examines her hand, and after he’s done he doesn’t let go.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Emma is not great at that kind of nonverbal communication, but when he folds his fingers through hers it feels nice.  Nice and--- confusing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you doing?”  Her voice is not quite steady.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Emma,” he says, and his voice is not quite steady either.  “In the past few weeks I have learned the value of directness.”  He grins.  “So let me be direct.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She swallows hard as he squeezes her hand.  Carefully.  There’s no pressure on her injured finger.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I like you, Emma Swan.  I want to see more of you.  A lot more.  If you’ll let me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His grin becomes a smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’d like to cook with you.  And not just to supervise.”   His index finger whispers a feather-light touch along her injury.  Goosebumps spring up along Emma’s forearm.  Then he looks up, and his eyes are warm and so soft.  “I want to cook with you and hang out with you and watch </span>
  <em>
    <span>firefly</span>
  </em>
  <span> in the same room with you.  And just--- spend time with you.  As much time as possible.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Emma can’t move.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Is he saying what she thinks he’s saying?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Killian’s smile fades in the face of her silence and tears spring to her eyes.  What if she’s wrong?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But then he chuckles and shakes his head and quietly says, “Down, Max.  Now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And the dog hops off the couch without protest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Killian closes the distance between them and lifts his hand to cup Emma’s cheek and then slowly, very </span>
  <em>
    <span>very</span>
  </em>
  <span> slowly bends forward and kisses her.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Emma breathes a sigh of relief into the kiss and opens her lips and Killian’s hand moves to the back of her neck, fists into her hair, and god---</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Emma has been kissed before.  Not often.  And never like </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span>.  She doesn’t want it to end.  Ever.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Time stops as he wraps his other arm around her and pulls her close, and she melts into him, hugs him back, and loses herself completely in an emotion for the very first time in her life.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When they break apart his pupils are blown and his breath is ragged, and all he says is, “Emma.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But this time she knows what he means.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Killian,” she replies, and he smiles.  It’s blinding.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Will you let me be part of your life?”  He whispers.  “I do come with a bunch of baggage, but on the bright side, I also come with a big floofy dog.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Emma laughs out loud, and something inside her that has been misaligned for as long as she can remember shifts into place.  It feels </span>
  <em>
    <span>good</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We all come with baggage,” she whispers back.  “But I don’t mind yours.  And you do have a big floofy dog.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Killian pulls her close as Max’s tail wags again, and she realizes it’s high time to tell him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And Killian?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nods, and she looks straight at him.  And doesn’t blink.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I like you, too.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>@katie-dub -- i am so sorry that took so long, lovely, but LOOK!<br/>IT'S DONE!!!<br/>💕💕💕</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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